Malkavian Madness
by PorcelainPills
Summary: Deranged and driven by madness, trying to find a way to fit into society. Voices that whisper softly in the back of their heads, either alluring or dangerous. A series of one-shots featuring the Malkavian clan of Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines. The chapters loosely follow the story of the video games. Warnings may vary from chapter to chapter.
1. Lust: Breed Obsession

Malkavian Madness

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**Summary:** A series of one-shots featuring the Malkavian clan of Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines. The chapters loosely follow the story of the video games. Warnings may vary from chapter to chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf  
I don't make any profit from this story.

English is not my first language so if you find any errors, just tell me.

**Warnings for this chapter: graphic sexual content, notions of abuse and violence**

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I: Lust - Breed Obsession

Loud music blasted through the speakers of the club, the bass thumbing intensely, making one's heart pound faster – if it was still beating, that is.

He sat at the bar, looking at the dancers, looking at no one in particular at the moment. His choice of clothing was quite _extraordinary_ – he wore white pin-striped pants and a long white coat with fur trimmings and a voluminous collar. He wore no shirt underneath it – making his flat, slightly muscular torso visible for everyone. Worn-out, purple sneakers and orange sunglasses completed his outfit. The only thing that didn't seem to fit to the ensemble was the huge Dr. Seuss-like hat which was decorated with red and white stripes he wore.

The people at the club glared at him, asking themselves what the strange guy was up to but he didn't seem to mind it and simply continued to stare at the dance floor.

There was a wine glass in his hand, filled with a deep red liquid. Those who knew who he was also knew that it wasn't wine the young man was drinking...

He kept on staring at the dancers, raising the glass to his lips, a smile splitting his face. The incisors were too long to be human. Slowly, he licked his lips, his gaze fixating on a young girl on the dancer floor.

Oh, she was pretty – her pale skin was illuminated by the bright neon lights of the club, the white silk dress she wore had slipped down a little, showing off one round creamy shoulder. Her hair was dyed black and a little wavy, disheveled from all the dancing she did. Her make-up was dark and smudged on the edges, those dark green eyes decorated with black swirls, the full lips colored in a bright blood red.

Hmm, blood...

He licked his lips again. _Exquisite_.

He had seen her before, just at this club. The voices in his head whispered to him, telling him things about her. The voices were always right.

They said her name was Scarlet, a name she chose herself for her stay in Santa Monica. Those round green eyes of hers screamed escapism, a girl that loved adventures – a girl that had the habit of running away from reality and her problems.

His thin lips curled into a smile. If she really was looking for a night she will never forget, he would give it to her.

He placed the now empty glass onto the bar, got up from his stool and approached her.

Her round hips swung to the beat of the music, lights dancing over her skin. Her luscious lips were parted lightly, her head thrown back, showing off her long pale neck.

Carefully, he laid his hands on her hips, swinging with her to the beat. She accepted his touches, leaning back against him, smoothing her body onto his.

The trap closed. No one could help her now.

_Oh Scarlet, you silly girl, what have you gotten yourself into?_

His hands started to wander over her body, tracing her sides, her flat stomach. Feeling bold, he grabbed her breasts, squeezing them. She let it happen, her head falling back onto his shoulder, lips parted in a moan.

He used the offering, sinking his fangs into her neck, sucking her blood and flinching slightly when it wasn't as sweet as he had anticipated it. There was a bitter taste to it.

_First, you run away from home and now drugs? Oh Scarlet..._

She turned around to face him, eyes widening in question at his weird outfit but she composed herself quickly. The crimson liquid dripped down her neck over her collarbone... Blood, the essence of life. Even though the true taste of her blood was covered up by whatever she had injected earlier, he already knew he was addicted. Either that or he was now high as well. Drugs and madness don't mix. The voices begged to differ, liking the loose feeling. As if his mind wasn't chaotic enough...

"The Asylum" was an Elysium. He wasn't supposed to do things like drinking blood here... She had grabbed his hand, leading him into one of the darker corners of the club. There, she urged him to sit down, kneeling down in front of him.

Every sense of modesty vanished from his thoughts.

He liked where this was going. She worked on his belt for a minute, inching the pants down his hips, leaning close to his already erect length, running her tongue against it slowly.

He thrust his hips up a little, indicating his wish and she complied, taking him in inch by inch, looking up to meet his eyes. His hand came up to stroke her hair, and he brushed a few of her silky raven strands away, watching as his erection appeared and disappeared between those full lips.

The beast deep within him roared to life. He wanted to possess this fragile being, _everything_ of her, wanted her to be his.

Her head bobbed up and down more quickly now and he sighed when he felt her hot breath on his nether regions.

After a while, he petted her head and she rose, letting her lips meet his.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss they shared and she nicked her lower lip on one of his fangs, whimpering at the pain. He licked up her blood, moaning in delight. The effect of the drugs started to fade slowly from her veins the more blood he sucked out of her.

He pulled the girl into his lap so that she straddled him, pulling her dress to the side, not really surprised that she didn't wear anything underneath it.

_Always got complimented by the boys, feeding your ego, Scarlet. Look where you ended up now._

She gasped sharply when he impaled her on his length but the pain faded away quickly and their bodies rocked against each other.

No one in the club paid much attention to them, minding their own business.

He was glad for that, it would make things only more complicated.

She cried out in pleasure, her long fingernails scraping over his stomach and he leaned closer in response, licking her lips, sucking on the them gently.

One round wouldn't suffice. It wasn't enough. The voices and the animal inside him screamed, demanded he should take her into his haven for one night.

The voices wanted to worship her, the animal wanted to corrupt her.

No, she wasn't innocent. He could see it in her eyes – she was an image of lust with her disarrayed hair, the messed up make-up, his scent all over her. All of that contrasted sharply to the white dress she wore.

_But you're not shy, Scarlet. You're not innocent anymore. Not after you gave everything to that guy – what was his name? It fell into oblivion, didn't it? Too bad you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him..._

He felt his climax approaching, grabbing her hips, helping her to keep their rhythm. She was breathing hard against his neck, desperately panting oxygen into her lungs before her breath caught and she whimpered quietly.

The soft sound was so beautiful and he tumbled over the edge suddenly, pressing her closer to him as he felt his body shake.

No, one round wouldn't suffice. He needed more of her, of her body. A carnal instinct had awoken deep within him and he needed to give in, couldn't think of anything else but giving in.

She leaned against him, breath ragged, her fingers playing with the fur of his jacket.

No words needed to be exchanged, one glance was enough, the deal was sealed – tonight, she was his.

* * *

The mattress creaked beneath the two bodies that were fornicating on the bed, low moans resounded through the room.

He was completely enraptured by this beautiful creature – _Scarlet_.

She was groaning in pleasure, lying beneath him as he entered her again and again, over and over. Both of them lost track of time but he knew this had to end soon – the daylight was approaching quite fast.

Up to now, they hadn't exchanged a single word. Who needed words when you could communicate through your body? The voices knew everything about her anyway and he would make sure that she wouldn't remember anything about him after this was over.

_Zac seemed like a nice guy, didn't he, Scarlet? But things spun out of control very fast and before you knew it, he turned violent. "I would never hurt you, honey", he had said, hadn't he? Now, Scarlet, no need to cry. I can make you forget, I can take the pain away._

She was still panting, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. Lovely little sounds escaped her throat that was bruised and bloody from the many times he had bitten her.

_We can't resist her, the taste of her blood. We want to worship our little Scarlet. _

Oh, but the beast wanted to corrupt her, take everything that she could give to it. And she was not aware of that – wasn't aware that she kept on feeding the beast within him.

Scarlet arched her back, her body quivering, another silent moan escaping her lips. He stayed completely still, watching her climax, staring as her soft facial features twisted in pleasure. He was going to take her to heights both of them had never experienced before.

_What did you think, Scarlet? My little naïve girl... That running away from home would solve your problems with your so-called fiancee? That he wouldn't find you under your new name and new look? And your friends said it in the beginning, advised you not to marry your high school love. Your arrogance and the 'love' you felt for him told you otherwise. And now, look where you are..._

Her hands glided over his skin and she smiled up at him, completely spent. He dove down to kiss her in response, savoring the taste on her lips – tequila and cherries. Faint undertones of cinnamon. How strange, yet alluring.

They broke apart, staring at each other.

Dawn was still far away. Maybe this night would even last forever.

They lay on the creaky bed next to each other, simply regarding their counterpart. Her hands ran over his stomach, danced over his chest up to his face and she looked into his eyes, still lost in her post-orgasmic bliss, not realizing how his skin became shinier, his eyes brighter every time he drank some of her blood. She didn't even question _why_ he bit her. Pain didn't register in her drugged mind. Even now, she still felt light-headed.

He continued to stare at her, a part of him asking himself whether it would be possible that this would last longer than one night. It was a rhetorical question – of course, it couldn't. The madness would destroy everything in the end. And if it wasn't the madness, it was the beast. And if it wasn't the beast, then it would be the voices. The voices wanted her. He didn't want her himself, did he? He didn't even know why he did that with her... or did he? Silent murmurs assured him that he had control, everything worked out the way it was planned.

The sound of her voice interrupted his train of thoughts. It was the first time this night any of them spoke.

"You don't talk much, do you?", Scarlet asked with a grin but froze when she tried to feel his heart beat – and found none.

_Play time's over._

The beast roared alive again. There was no backing off now. But she had sealed the deal once she got too close to him. The trap had snapped shut behind her.

He sank his teeth into her neck for the last time tonight and she closed her eyes for the last time in her life.

_Everything worked out as planned, _the voices kept on assuring him while the beast howled in misery. Maybe he confused the worshiper and the corrupter.


	2. Gluttony: Red

Malkavian Madness

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Disclaimer: Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf  
I don't make any profit from this story.

**Warnings for this chapter: violence, gore and lots of blood**

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II: Gluttony

_Red_

_More_.

It was the only thing that she registered through the haze of her mind. Thirst, burning thirst – and blood was the only cure. She could feel the fragile necks of her victims under her strong fingers, could feel her long nails dig themselves into their skin, drawing even more blood.

_More, more, more. I need more._

Frenzy. Many had warned her about that – said that she was even more likely to fall into frenzy because of her lunacy, her blood line.

But she didn't care anymore. There was blood here – and lots of it. A feast. Her vision swam, tinted in red. Crimson everywhere. She didn't register the terrified screams of the thugs in the old warehouse. To her, their screams were a beautiful symphony, the soundtrack to their own demise.

They had underestimated her and now they would pay for it.

Two more to go. She turned to the guys, slowly – like a predator, like the beast she was, the beast that had awoken deep within her.

Both of her last victims were holding wooden bats, looking absolutely terrified. They knew they couldn't escape her, had watched her take out their other partners, had watched how she attacked and drained them one by one, neglecting any of the wounds that were inflicted to her. Bullets shot straight through her body, the holes closing themselves up neatly. They knew she was a vampire, even though none of them could believe it, staring at her long incisors in horror.

One of them still tried to talk to her, hoping to calm her down, hoping that she would show some mercy on them but she didn't hear him, didn't even notice that his lips were moving. In the blink of an eye, she had pounced onto him, her teeth tearing the skin on his neck.

His partner tried to run away but couldn't, feet rooted to the ground from fear, watching as his friend was drained by the vampiric woman.

When he wasn't moving anymore, she turned to the other, licking the droplets of crimson off her lips.

He backed off, his feet slowly moving backwards. Being a thug, he never imagined to die like this. Getting shot probably, maybe beat to death but killed by something that seemed to be a vampire? He didn't even believe those things existed.

His back collided with the wall. The end, no way out.

She seemed to think the same.

"And this is only a nightmare, my boy", she cooed, petting his cheek and he leaned into her touch, believing her words.

"Will everything be back to normal when I wake up?", he asked in a hopeful voice and heard her chuckle.

"Sure, if that's what you want to."

"So my friends and boss weren't killed by a vampire?"

_Maintain the illusion, lull him in._

She was the cobra, he was the mouse and she was going to devour him like she did with the rest.

_You're safe_, the voices whispered to him but she ignored them, deciding to play another game, to have a little more fun with her food before she ate it.

"Oh yes, they were."

"What?"

"I killed them! Don't you remember?" Now she was scolding him like a little child.

"You?"

"Yes, me – the scary vampire!" She hissed and showed her fangs and his eyes widened in shock.

"I thought everything was going back to normal when I wake up!", he shouted in panic and she chuckled again.

"You _won't_ wake up."

Fangs broke through skin again and she greedily gulped down the coppery liquid, listened how his heart beat increased and gradually slowed down until it stopped.

_I need this. I need more._

The lifeless corpse fell to the ground, the body unmoving, empty gray eyes staring at the ceiling.

The red haze that had clouded her twisted mind disappeared slowly and she was about to do the task the Prince of the Ivory Tower gave her when the voices suddenly started screaming. Echoes of what just had happened plagued her, the voices showing her what she just had done, asking her to justify her actions.

_You asked for the blood, you wanted it, you made me do it._

They denied her accusation and she fell to the floor, realizing her hands were soaked with the sanguine liquid.

Red, red, red – everywhere. The result of her need, of her disease. Her thirst wasn't something to be proud of, the animal she had fed was something wrong. A curse, an ancient curse, brought onto her by someone who couldn't contain their own hunger for the red elixir. And now she had to suffer as well.

_Caine_, the voices whispered, _Caine the first sinner._

Another name without a face but it didn't matter at the moment.

She rolled to the side, clutching her stomach and bit her lip. Her long fangs sliced her lower lip open, making her feel nauseous when she tasted her own blood on her lips. Her stomach gave a throb and she bent over, puking out what she just had taken.

Blood. Blood means life, doesn't it? And she had taken lives, killed when it could have been avoided. Killed for the wrong reasons, gave in to the nature she needed to control.

Control... She had a task.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, collecting one of the wooden bats the thugs left behind – just in case, maybe there were more of them here – and ran up the stairs of the old warehouse to place the explosives there.

_I need to get out of here. Wee, a private light show, just for me!_

The voices had warned her about this – about giving in to her instincts – but she had been a fool and ignored them. The vampire lifestyle was still new to her but nonetheless she knew she could trust the strange visions in her head, the faint murmurs that seemed to come out of nowhere.

The Astrolite was set. Time to go. The explosion would cover up her crime, her sin, wouldn't it?

_Don't lie to yourself_, the voices warned. _You have another burden to carry now._

Tonight, she found herself in her haven, weeping and cursing herself for that one night stand that had turned her into this monstrosity, for the idiot that had lured her in and infected her with this parasite. In the next moment though, she was laughing madly, glaring at the moon.

_Lunacy is a fine thing._


	3. Greed: Misery Loves Company

Malkavian Madness

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Disclaimer: Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf. I don't make any profit from this story.

**Warnings for this chapter: mentions of sexual harassment and abuse**

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III: Greed

_Misery Loves Company_

She had always been told that she was quite possessive. Possessive about _everything_ – when she was a child, it had been toys. She had always kept her dolls to herself, never let anyone get too near to them. Her parents shrugged that off, mistaking possessiveness for introversion. It did nothing to solve her problem.

Later, she also became possessive about people. People, things – who drew the line there? Both were objects one could possess and treasure, right?

But now, Therese Voerman wanted more. Objects weren't enough. She needed something bigger, something that showed others how much she possessed. Deep down, in the depths of her deranged mind, she knew that she had already lost control, that she was on the verge to losing her mind completely.

But she _didn't care_. Well, as long as everything went down according to plan, she simply couldn't bring herself to care. She lived for herself. _Herself_, and no one else.

A new message plopped open on her computer, interrupting her train of thoughts.

Vandal, this little rat. What did he want now? Ah, it didn't matter anyway. She had other things to do, more important than her little ghoul. Maybe he had been arrested again. This time, she wouldn't help him out. It was a waste of both her money and patience.

But up to now, things were going the way they were supposed to go – Tung was out of her way, Jeanette was under her control, the Ocean House was in her possession. Now she only needed the workers to find the pendant that was supposed to be there. Everything would turn out just _perfect_.

Oh, Therese had also always been told that she was a perfectionist. Her mother had urged her to have ballet lessons when she had been a child and Therese devoted herself to the training. But just as everything in her life, may it be her human or inhuman life, things were short-lived – no pun intended.

Therese wasn't made to be a team player, didn't want to dance together with the other girls, wanted the audience to clap for her and _only her_. Instead of working on her flaws, she blamed the others. They just couldn't take that she was a better dancer. Her mother had petted her head back then, agreeing with her daughter so that Therese would shut up and she could have a moment in peace.

Therese had very few friends. Her friendships didn't last because she decided to push people away as soon as they came too close. Either that or she became – once again – overly possessive. She didn't want her friends to have other friends besides her, couldn't take it that they could possibly spend their time with someone else. Can't they see that they only existed to be with her? There was no space for someone else besides her. No, they had to go. They didn't deserve her company, her devotion, her love.

And then, out of nowhere, came Jeanette. She was everything Therese wasn't: adventurous, outrageous, out-going, loud. She didn't have any morals or manners. God, how much Therese hated that slut. Still, they were drawn to each other, became best friends, so close that they were almost sisters, twins even.

_We, the daughters of Janus – the two-faced god. I'm the one with morals so why am I the dark one, the black one? You are the evil one of us, Jeanette. _You_ deserve to be the dark side._

But was it really true?

The darkness had blossomed from her – well, not exactly her. Things always have to be complicated...

She had been innocent once but that innocence was taken away by her own father. The abuse started when she turned ten, and she slowly grew accustomed of her father taking her whenever he wanted to, whenever her mother wasn't at home. And Jeanette... well, she had always been there for Therese, supported her, wiped her tears away, whispered that there would be a way out of this, encouraged her to keep her head high. And that's everything Jeanette ever did. Never did she speak up to help Therese out of her misery...

And so, things got out of hand quickly. Therese realized that Jeanette's behavior and lifestyle rubbed off of her. She started going out, returning home only in the early morning hours, reeking of booze and weed. Her mother was disappointed, started crying, locking Therese up in her room, hoping it was just a phase. Things got even worse and Therese finally broke, didn't know who she was anymore.

The girl that used to have goals in her life didn't exist anymore. Therese was tired of trying to meet standards, she wanted to tear down barriers, wanted to be _free_. She wanted to be just like Jeanette, wanted her appearance, her character, wanted everything that she had.

She threw out her modest and plain clothes, replacing them with mini skirts, short and fitted blouses, net stockings. Her mother called her a whore, crying again and again while her father just watched both of them fight. In the night, he would come to Therese again, telling her how much he liked her new style. Her mother had been right, Therese realized somewhere along the way. She had really turned into a whore, her father made her that way.

But that's not the end of the story. It got even more worse. Therese lost it, dropped out of school. Years passed in a blur and she constantly found herself somewhere between people she barely knew. People that called her Jeanette and kept on calling her that way even though she told them her name was Therese. She lost her identity, was always somewhere in between, not belonging to either side. But things truly escalated that one evening when she returned home after months...

Her father was home, finding her in her bed, approaching her as he always did, doing the things he always did. But something inside her broken mind shattered. This wasn't her – this was Jeanette! She wasn't supposed to be here, he wasn't supposed to do this to her, Jeanette wasn't his daughter!

She reacted violently, pushing him off her, throwing punches. A voice in her head kept on yelling that she was broken and she kept on screaming at her father: "Look what you did to me! Are you happy now? You fucking corrupted me!"

Schizophrenia? A shattered and deranged mind, a split personality – that was what was wrong with her. She was jealous of herself, furious of her other self who took away her father from her... That's what she was supposed to feel... right? _Right_?

Blood stains on the wallpaper of her room... Nobody ever bothered to renovate her room when she became older – it was the same silly clown wallpaper that had been there when she was a toddler. They didn't have enough money to renovate anyway... She stared at the shotgun in her hand. Her father laid on her bed... well, his remains. And god, the blood.

Therese couldn't take it. She packed her things, threw everything she could find into a backpack and ran. Ran away. It didn't matter where to. Just away, anywhere but _there_...

She found herself at the diner in Santa Monica, never knowing how she got there in the first place, drinking coffee that tasted like dishwater but didn't complain. There were dark rings under her bloodshot eyes. She wasn't able to sleep, was paranoid at night where she slept under bridges. Most of her money was gone. She didn't know where to turn to anymore.

And this was when Jeanette returned. She wasn't her sister – her friend – anymore. No, she was blaming Therese for their father's death, telling her it was her fault.

Therese was about to lose it again when she was offered an opportunity by a stranger.

He was there suddenly, sitting opposite to her just like that. She couldn't recall what he looked like by now, the memory taken away by himself.

She remembered staring at him for some minutes, asking what he wanted. He had said "Oh, I want nothing but you are looking for something."

Back then, she didn't know what he was talking about. By now though, she knew what he meant. Therese had searched for a way to end her misery and he offered her to erase the memories, to start anew. She didn't want a new start – all she wanted was to be herself, to delete Jeanette's existence from her memories, from her life. The deal was sealed quickly and before she knew it, she was who she always craved to be, starting to just take what she wanted. Now, with the ability to manipulate the minds of others, she was able to do it. She became the Baroness of Santa Monica – her own domain. It was a small domain, but a start nonetheless. People admired her, respected her. Everything had turned out the way she wanted it.

But Jeanette found a way to return into her life. Jeanette, her alter ego always found a way to destroy her life.

Therese blinked in confusion. An unread e-mail blinked on her computer screen. The workers on the construction site didn't even want to enter the Ocean House, afraid of the ghost that seemed to haunt the hotel. This was not how it was supposed to work... no...

Jeanette. It's her fault again.

Therese pulled at her hair, the hair tie snapped, the long blonde hair spilling down her shoulders. Long fingernails dug into the polished surface of her desk.

"Aw, why so mad, _sister_?"

The voice came from deep within her.

"You know it. Shut up."

But Jeanette wouldn't back down this time.

"I made a new ally, Therese. It's one of us. And she knows about you and me... our association."

"Shut up", Therese said through gritted teeth, her feet carrying her to the bathroom. Clothes were shed, new ones slipped on. She tied the white belly top, straightened the pleated skirt.

"My turn now, Therese", Jeanette said, applying the dark make-up she loved so much, letting the black eyeliner run down in bold lines that resembled tear tracks. Dramatic.

"I hate you", Therese managed to choke out before Jeanette shut her up for this evening.

"Hate me as much as you want to", she whispered, now applying lipstick. "You will never get rid of me. I am a part of you."

No reply came. She was Jeanette today. The seducer. The one that couldn't be tamed. She was the beast now, looking for someone to hunt down.

In the back of her mind though, Therese knew that she was to blame for everything. She always wanted more, was happy when she could take and take and take. Jeanette was one of the results of her greediness, product of her fantasy, object of her obsession with obtaining everything she saw.

Jeanette tied her hair into two ponytails, staring into the mirror. One eye was blue, the other had turned green – she was in charge tonight, Therese wouldn't interfere.

She placed the brush back onto the bathroom counter, still staring at her reflection. Slowly, she smudged the make-up on her right eye a little more, leaving the room afterwards, heading into the club below.

Time to feed the hunger from within.


	4. Sloth: Ocean of Storms

Malkavian Madness

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Disclaimer: Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf. I don't make any profit from this story.

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IV: Sloth

_Ocean of Storms_

_It's been two weeks,_ one of the voices registered dryly.

He didn't react to it, and turned to the side, staring at the wall of his haven. There were still some tasks he needed to do. The Prince wanted him to fetch a vial of werewolf blood from the hospital. It had to wait.

_What if the Jester doesn't want to wait?_, the voices inquired. _What if he decides to punish you for taking so long?_

Damn, where had those morals been the other night two weeks ago when he had hooked up with that mysterious lady at the bar? The one who couldn't stop licking and biting his neck, the one who had turned him into this. The one who had been punished for her crime...

_Your morals had gone on vacation and returned some minutes ago. Get your ass up and fetch the werewolf blood before they decide to decapitate you like our sire._

So demanding. Grumbling, he got up from the mattress of his bed, slowly leaving his haven.

He didn't want to go out, actually. His haven isolated him from the world outside. On the other hand, maybe – just maybe – he could finally take a break from those annoying voices?

_Don't even think about it. Just go and get the blood for the Jester._

Sighing, he entered the hospital from a side entrance, asking himself when he had become this resigned.

The voices were always right, but still – they had already deceived him once and would attempt to do so again.

_And whose fault is that? We are you, idiot._

Right.

In his life, he had always drawn the craziest people in. He knew that he been crazy to begin with, even before he was embraced – his friends knew him as the insane guy who loved to play with fire. Literally. And here, in Santa Monica, he was going to do it again – playing the arsonist, setting things alight. At least something to look forward to.

Still, he felt _drained_. Powerless.

_Get some from our blood doll._

The girl at the Asylum? Well, why not. … On the other hand, he just wanted to go to sleep again. Or maybe he should this miserable existence once and for all – step into the sun?

_Are you really that desperate?_

Not yet. Still, where is the appeal in eternal life? Time had no meaning for him now. How was he supposed to continue like that? He didn't live – he was simply floating around, waiting for something to happen.

Is that all life had to offer for him now? Never seeing the sun again, only being allowed to wander the night?

_The night is beautiful._

It's not. The night lacks all the colors he loved so much, is tainted by harsh artificial light – dangerous, uninviting. The night is not beautiful and will never be.

It was easy to find and get the blood. By now, he was on his way home – back to his haven. The plan for tonight: lying in his bed and pretending the world around him didn't exist. His veins felt dry and his head was swimming slightly but he chose to ignore it. Maybe if he was lucky, he would simply fade away.

_No, you won't_, the voices interfered. _You're going out tonight. You're going to live tonight._

And the voices continued to pester him, forcing him to get dressed, to prepare himself for going out. So that's what he did several hours later. But instead of going into the Asylum as the voices wanted, he went into the direction of the parking garage, determined to go to the ocean.

Even the ocean was ugly at night, he found. He stared at the dark blue waves, barely registering that it had started to rain.

In front of him, there was a camp fire. None of the thinbloods that had set it up were around though... For a moment, he simply stared into the flames.

_Don't get all nostalgic now_, the voices growled in warning and once again he ignored them.

There's no fun in living forever, in not aging. The thought that his friends would all die before him made him feel sick – he wouldn't see them again. Never.

This was a dead end.

He slumped down into the sand, ignoring the creaky sounds his bones made. The night passed and the rain didn't stop. In a matter of minutes, his clothes were soaked but he didn't pay attention to it, didn't feel the cold.

Actually, it was quite ironic – he hadn't even been immortal for that long but now, yet he was tired of living.

_You're pathetic, you know that – right?_

He had heard that sentence so many times in his life and now even the voices in his own head had started picking on him.

Pathetic. He didn't like the sound of that. But just as usual, he let it slip. He didn't put up a fight, found no reason for doing that. In life, either things work or they don't. Those things didn't really have a meaning to him, he never really wanted anything in life. Maybe this was the reason he didn't get along with the voices inside his head. They were the complete opposite to him – always demanding and determined.

_Live_, the had demanded. But where's the reason for that?

He sighed silently and turned to leave, hissing when he cut his hand on a sharp glass shard that had been buried in the sand. Pain...

He inhaled slowly and deeply – although it wasn't necessary, he didn't need to breathe because he was clinically dead – and pulled the glass out, hissing again.

For a split second, he asked himself why the pain made him so excited but the voices washed everything away, cooing in delight at the new found pleasure source.

_Do it again,_ they demanded now. _Don't you find it fascinating? This is life. Savor feeling_ alive.

They don't even know what they're talking about. He threw the shard away and ran into the direction of the city, away from the ocean, the beach, the camp fire.

The Asylum. His blood doll. Just some sips of blood and the swimming feeling in his head disappeared. His resignation, however, was still there – waiting for the next moment of weakness to strike.

Was that how he was supposed to live now? Waiting for something to excite him?

_Nothing has changed from your previous life_, was the opinion of the voices inside his mind, _It gets even more exciting now. We are here to guide you._

He didn't want anyone to guide him, wanted to decide on his own.

_Too bad. Your time ran out. We're going to decide now._

But the sun rose and he closed the blinds, laying down on his bed and closed his eyes, effectively silencing the murmurs in his head.

In the end, his voices were just like him – talking big but never achieving anything.


	5. Wrath: Metamorphosis

Malkavian Madness

* * *

Disclaimer: Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf. I don't make any profit from this story.

**Warnings for this chapter: gore, violence, death and lots of blood**

* * *

V: Wrath

_Metamorphosis (Red: The Reprise)_

It was happening again – the maddening feeling of rage, the addictive burning of thirst. She clutched a fire ax in her hands, her fingers twitching in excitement. Blood slowly dripped down from the blade. Loud huffs came from all directions, incoherent ramblings and moans of zombie-like creatures resounded through the run-down building.

Ninth Circle, huh? A fake temple with a hypocritical bishop. Ridiculous, even in her crazed mind.

She lifted her weapon again, driving it down into the skull of the zombie in front of her, hearing the voices in her head scream in delight at the carnage. The blood of those creatures was brackish though, tainted with the disease all of those sick people carried.

But her greedy phase was over – she didn't actually want to consume the blood. She wanted to _kill_. This wasn't a humble task, she wasn't killing the plague bearers for her image or because she wanted the vampire society to look up to her – she didn't even care about the price the Regent promised her. She wanted to kill, plain and simple. Maybe this was her way of venting her frustration – taking it out on those dead and diseased people. The voices didn't leave any time to ponder it.

Still, it was a strange moment of clarity she was experiencing now – in the back of her mind, isolated from the other voices who seemed to have taken control over her body. She didn't want this, never wanted any of it. She didn't want to kill for her own existence, and everyone who thought being a vampire meant glamor and beauty was simply stupid in her opinion.

But she didn't have a choice – the frenzy had returned, bend her to its will, made her its slave. Her anger took over and she felt herself break yet again, succumbing to the beast inside. Blood. Death. More blood. Crimson rivulets that trickled down onto the filthy floor, mingling with the dirt. Interesting splatter patterns that decorated the walls. Visions of lives that she was taking, lives that had been lived by those zombies that used to be human. Humans, not monsters... humans who walked on this planet and breathed and used to have emotions and feelings and maybe even a family. _Gone, destroyed, none of it is left now. _

The voices murmured she was doing the right thing – and maybe, just maybe, they were right for once. This brotherhood had infected so many with their disease, thinking they would lead their supporters to heaven even though it only made them sick and drew many innocents into their abyss.

Bishop Vick was a hard enemy, armed with a heavy shotgun and fast as the wind. Nonetheless, she was able to stun and kill him in the end.

While she pulled out a blood pack from her jacket, she was still wondering if she had done this – killing Vick and the other plague bearers and their victims – for the right reasons. She didn't care about vampire politics, didn't care about the plague bearers she had killed.

_Who needs reasons or a clear conscience? You did the dirty work, now go and collect your reward._

She received an artifact from the Regent for her troubles and a very reluctant "Thank you" from Damsel. Enough to satisfy her – but not the voices. No, the voices loved seeing blood too much, found delight in hurting and killing others. She was dangerous and she knew it but what was she supposed to do?

_You're fighting your true nature_, came the accusation from deep within her. _You're afraid of yourself, of the things you are capable of._

It was true – she was afraid, anxious and all alone with her problems. Malkavians weren't taken serious, all of the other clans thought she was crazy anyway. The only one who could have helped her was dead – Dr. Aleister Grout, the Malkavian primogen, was only a pile of ashes by now.

_You don't need any help, you have us!_

Really fucking great. She rolled her eyes. The voices were always right but still, they were more trouble than help. Seeing flashes of the lives she was taking while being on her killing spree, for example. It was great, really helped easing her mind off what she just did. Oh sweet irony.

She pushed the thoughts aside and slowly wandered the streets of Downtown, LA to her new haven, briefly wondering why so many people stared at her – and why did they look so scared? Ah right, the ax... and the trail of blood that she was leaving behind... and her crazy outfit that consisted of a scanty leather police uniform with knee-high boots. Normal people weren't used to that, right? Wait... _Normal_ people?

She snorted in annoyance. You only learn to appreciate normality and routine when you can't have it in your own life... or after-life or whatever her condition meant.

_We _are_ normal. Well, as normal as it gets._

There is no 'we'! She wanted her life back, was that too much to ask?

_Yes. We are you, you are us. We are one. Deal with it._

She arrived at the apartment complex, riding the elevator up to the forth level and entering her haven, slumping down onto the comfy couch. Tonight had been quite exhausting. Gingerly, she touched the already healing bullet wounds Bishop Vick had inflicted, flinching when she had to pull out another bullet. The lead clattered onto the floor unceremoniously, the sound echoing in the almost empty room. She never had time to decorate her haven, had too many errands to run and too many people to please.

_Do this, do that, find X, track down Y, fetch the fancy ancient box... people love to let you do the dirty work and you even do what they want._

Again, she asked herself what she was supposed to do then. She rubbed her eyes, getting tired of the voices inside her head. Because they were telling the truth and she didn't want to hear it. The truth scared her, made her uneasy. Before the embrace, she had had the ability of thinking rationally. And now, everything was a mess. A confusing and complicated mess.

_But we're getting closer to the root of all things_, the voices insisted.

"'We' does not exist", she said into the silence and the voices shut up for a minute – to talk even louder in the next minute.

_Succumb. Submit. You can't escape your fear anyway._

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" She had leaped up to her feet, her gaze hectically shifting from one object to another, searching for someone to scream at.

By now, she was in front of the huge aquarium of her haven, yelling at her own reflection, lightly drumming against the glass, gritting her teeth.

_Fear only exists in your mind. We are your mind. You can't escape._

Her long nails scratched over the glassy surface of the fish tank. Tears of frustration and fear were streaming down her face. "I hate you, I fucking hate you", she sobbed, her trembling hands clenching into fists and she lightly drummed against the glass. "I want this to end."

_It won't_, came the answer. _There's no you and me – _we_ is the only thing that exists now. You are responsible for us, we are you. You are hating yourself. Remember those zombies? We killed them, we wanted to see them suffer and die. We are the voice of your deepest desires, of the beast within you, we are only a reflection of the things _you_ want._

"Shut up", she whimpered weakly. "Just shut up." She would never get used to it – sharing her head with all those voices, thought she was going crazy with all the murmurs and whispers that kept on assuring her everything was supposed to be this way. She had never wanted this – any of it. Never. She wanted her rational thinking back.

The voices laughed at "rational thinking". She wasn't serious, was she?

_Try to end it then_, one of them said dryly. _Try to kill yourself._

_We are immortal_, another noticed. _We can't kill ourselves just like that._

_But I thought we wanted to suffer?_, the first retorted, _We love pain. Any kind of pain – emotional, physical, it doesn't matter._

She stared at the glass of the aquarium. Her own reflection looked scared, terrified even – wide-eyed, shaking like a leaf, unnaturally pale even for her standards. When she had been human, the depths of her mind had always been an escape, a place where she was alone.

_You'll never be alone now!_

A scream tore through her throat, high and inhumane. Panic. Anger. Fear. She punched the glass and it shattered, a huge wave of water washing over her and she lost it, couldn't stop screaming. Chaos. Pain. Her vision started to swim.

"Stop it, just stop it. I want it to end!"

Her skin tore, her knuckles broke and suddenly, there was pain exploding in different places of her body. Something had shattered to the point of being irreparable. Rage blossomed inside her. Anger at those voices, at her state of mind, at all the people who wanted something from her.

The voices started yelling at her, some encouraging her fear, some trying to calm her down. But she had lost control, her mind couldn't grasp what she was doing or why she was doing it, couldn't find the source for her anger and panic.

More chaos. Everything in her haven was in pieces. And where did all the blood come from? Glass shards everywhere, everything was soaked. Aquarium gravel and plants littered the floor, the once beautiful fish tank now broken.

She sank back onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. Destruction – that was all she was capable of. Destroying beauty. Destroying life. Destroying herself.

She howled in misery, wiping off some of her tears. Then, she tried to compose herself, examining the damage. The fish were dead, the last one still helplessly jerking on the floor, struggling for life.

It made her feel miserable, even when she knew she shouldn't be mourning over something silly like dead fish. Still, she couldn't tear her gaze away from the small animal that kept on moving on the carpet of her living room, watched as its small gills parted, desperately searching for water to breathe. This is what life is about – surviving...

The fish jerked one last time, and slumped down, lifelessly laying on the carpet. She was still staring at it, not knowing what to do now, feeling horrible for reasons she couldn't explain.

_Who needs a clear conscience?_, the voices asked for a second time that night. _We all die. Maybe just as pathetic as this fish or the zombies you have slain hours before._

"Not all of us die", she whispered quietly, "_We_ don't."

With that, she got up and fetched a mop from her broom closet, cleaning up her own mess this time. The other people of the vampire society had told her of this curse. Only now she understood the true meaning of it, understood how horrible the things she had done were. Why was she leaving a mess and a trail of death everywhere she went? Why did it have to be her? She would never receive answers to all her questions.

_In life, we either swim or sink._

"Spare me your metaphors."

_You will learn how to get along with us eventually. You can't hold a grudge against us – it's like letting someone live rent-free in your head._

"I said spare me your metaphors", she managed to choke out behind clenched teeth.

She didn't need to tell the voices how much she hated them – they already knew. And even then, she felt a painful twinge in her stomach because she knew they were right. Her emotions, her fear – all of that only existed in her head and as much as she wanted to blame the voices... in the end, they both were one and the same person, damned to get along. And that bond was the only thing she wasn't able to destroy, no matter how hard she tried.


	6. Envy: Unlocking Swooning Voracity

Malkavian Madness

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**Disclaimer:** Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf. I don't make any profit from this story.

**Warnings for this chapter: insanity? I don't even know what I did here.**

* * *

VI: Envy

_Unlocking Swooning Voracity_

"My beloved wife Mary worries about me", a middle-aged man with glasses said into a voice recorder. He was seated on a red leather couch, several sheets of paper and a calligraphy pen with a corresponding ink pot neatly laying in front of him. Half of the page was already covered with ink, his handwriting clear and readable. Maybe it was his journal.

"She is concerned about my state of health", the man continued, "Says she didn't see me eat for some months by now, complains that I sleep the whole day and never come to bed at night. Mary worries about me."

He stared at the recorder, his thick brows knotted together in concentration. Then, out of nowhere his voice, laced with worry and concern, switched into a completely different tone – light and happy.

"Patients are doing alright. Number 46 tried to kill a nurse with its spoon yesterday. Restrained and moved to another cell. Object 46 is quite violent, it has already bitten me successfully. We need to figure something out. I should arrange a meeting with the other nurses, maybe they have an idea what we could do."

He paused again, clicking a button on the recorder and staring into space for some minutes. Again, his facial expression and demeanor changed completely and he got up from his seat, pacing through his private library.

Doctor Aleister Grout was at his breaking point, knowing he had to do something to keep his sanity. Or whatever was left of it. But there were too many things he had to do, the strange paranoia he felt not helping in the slightest. Grout didn't know why he felt this way ever since that patient had bitten him. Also... where did those strange murmurs in his head come from?

Grout didn't think of himself as insane, knew he heard his conscience whisper to him every now and then but this was different. He was having conversations with those new voices and it unnerved him. What was the source of those noises? And why was he only awake at night and found delight in drinking blood from the packs which were intended for the patients?

He had brushed it off as a new-found though slightly weird habit, thinking he wanted to break his routine by drinking blood, saw it as something exciting. At the same time, he knew he was lying to himself. Something was wrong with him. Terribly wrong.

And slowly, daylight crept into the room and he left the library, retreating to his private quarters. He would find a way to solve this mystery. Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

Two weeks later, he still hadn't made any progress at all. Slowly, but surely, Grout was getting desperate and his paranoia even worse.

"Voices keep on whispering to me", Doctor Grout said into his recorder, lifting it from the table and carrying it with him. It was plugged into a cable drum, enabling him to carry the old-fashioned recording machine outside.

"They're talking about a prophecy, saying a man will come. A strong man. Brave as a lion. With the head of a pigeon. And the body of a pigeon." He was outside by now, staring at a tree in his garden. Slowly, he approached it, sitting down with his legs crossed. Grout regarded the dried leaves on the lawn with mild interest.

"It is too bad so many people think of you as a burden", he said to the leaf closest to him. He took it into his hand where it crumpled slightly. "People should devote an afternoon to digest as many of you as they can instead of complaining. Taking advantage of free bounty." With that, he ate the leaf.

Maybe he should had taken that as the first confirmation of his insanity. Instead, he continued to eat the leaves. Taking advantage of free bounty, of course.

Several hours later, he was lying on his back in his garden, staring into the sky.

"The idea of flying sounds brilliant", he mumbled quietly. The moon shone brightly and heavy clouds hung in the sky. The air was moist tonight – it was about to rain.

"Spread your wings, little bird, and take off. Be free." The blackbird seemed to stare at him confusedly. It seemed to know that Grout was losing his mind. Or maybe Grout simply thought he knew what the bird was thinking. Do birds even think? What was he even thinking about now?

Grout frowned, lost in thoughts for a minute. A swarm of blackbirds flew over him, croaking loudly as they passed him.

_Oh, how majestic and beautiful. Watch how their wings work, watch their muscles straining as they try to lift their hollow bones into the night sky. _We_ will never be able to get out of here. _

Grout's frown deepened and he got up.

"Actually, now that I think about it the reality of flying is sweaty and exhausting. There's nothing beautiful in running as well, after all. Just another form of getting somewhere."

_And we can't run away from our fate! We're going to face our final death by the hand of the Mistress of Mirrors!_

But what do they mean with the final death? He was still alive... right?

_Think whatever you want to, Doctor. Biology can't explain to you what you've become._

And so Grout continued to stare at the sky, lost in the idea of flying and trying to push his thoughts and those annoying voices away.

"And what if I pick every spine off a hedgehog?", he asked no one in particular, still staring into the clouds. Rain trickled down onto him, showering him. "Would I have a guinea pig then?"

Maybe he really was losing his mind.

_This would require sanity in the first place, _Doctor.

Grout didn't miss the mocking undertone. A cure needed to be found.

* * *

The next day, Grout's paranoia got even worse. At the moment, he was busy moving the furniture of his office around. He pushed his desk out of the door, propping it up in the corridor. More furniture followed. Grout didn't even know why he did that. He just felt the need to. Then, he instructed his wife to barricade the doors to their quarters and released all the patients.

"Jane, I need to make sure you're safe."

"My name is Mary..." She backed off against a wall, staring at her husband in disbelief. She couldn't put a finger on his unusual behavior, was convinced that after all those years he spent with his patients he had become insane as well.

Mary Grout stood no chance against him as she conserved. _Saved_.

_Her beauty will never fade this way_, the voices babbled. _Look, she's like a beautiful flower. So fragile, so elusive. So _human.

Human.

It was only now that Grout realized what he had done and broke down into tears. He felt guilty, ashamed... mostly because he envied her. Mary was dead. Mary had been human. And he himself didn't know what kind of inhumane monster he had become.

Grout hid beneath his bed. He had abandoned his voice recorder with one final message, declaring that he wasn't safe anymore. The voices told him everything would be over soon, that he and Mary would be joined again. And the pigeon-headed lion? That wasn't his problem. He would be gone by then.


	7. Vanity: Immaculate

Malkavian Madness

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**Disclaimer:** Vampire the Masquerade – Bloodlines = © WhiteWolf. I don't make any profit from this story.

**Warnings for this chapter:** suggestive themes (light F/F), language

**A/N:** The grand finale! *drumroll* Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this story :)

* * *

VII: Vanity

_Immaculate_

Purple. Such a pristine color, often connected to royalty, to nobility. Purple – the color of seduction, the perfect mixture of blue and red, the perfect combination of innocence and passion, of calmness and desire, of ice and fire.

Jeanette eyed the aubergine-colored velvet dress with big, almost child-like eyes. _It's so pretty,_ she thought in delight as she slipped into it.

It was indeed a pretty dress: it was taken in at the waist, the lower part pleated, swirling around Jeanette's long legs while the upper part fitted snugly onto her body. The cleavage wasn't very deep – unusual, considering the rest of Jeanette's wardrobe –, adorned by skillfully placed pieces of fabric. A leather trim was on the top of the dress that blended straight into leather straps.

Innocent, yet seductive.

Tonight, Jeanette refrained from wearing her usual net stockings and strappy high heels, putting on suspenders and lace stockings and black patent leather pumps instead. Her long blonde hair was curled and pinned up loosely, her lips were painted in a deep burgundy, her eyes void of any dramatic smudged eyeliner.

_Done. You're all dolled up now. How does it feel to hide your true self beneath a layer of make-up? How does it feel to know you can never turn back time? How does it feel to know your innocence won't ever return? How does it feel? _

Ignore the voices. The less you care, the happier you will be.

Jeanette thought she looked quite nice, actually. Sophisticated. Modest. Lady-like. … _Human_?

She added the final touch and put on the necklace with the locket from the Ocean House. Carefully, she took a step back from the mirror, taking a look at her reflection. Her nimble fingers danced around the small pendant.

_See that, Therese? Mine!_

A low growl that came from her own mouth answered her but she composed herself quickly, twining some of the locks that got into her face around her finger before pinning them to the side.

_Looking good._

Vanity – the mother of all sins. The fountain of all the things that made existence miserable and made her feel guilty in her dark moments. But Jeanette couldn't help but like the feeling she got whenever she looked in the mirror. Looking at herself made her feel proud even though the small voice in the back of her mind kept on whispering that she didn't achieve anything in her life. Jeanette lived through the night which passed in a blur just to stumble back into her haven at sunrise, disoriented and confused with no clue what life really was about.

A small frown appeared on her forehead. The meaning of life? What was she even thinking about?

Jeanette was prepared for the night and left her small flat that was located above the club, riding down the elevator. She wasn't properly dressed for The Asylum, her destination was another club...

* * *

_Oh, if the humans only knew..._, Jeanette thought with a scoff as she entered the Vesuvius.

So many kindred in one city, blending into society without being noticed. Maybe it was good thing... otherwise she wouldn't be enjoying a glass of blood and her own private strip tease of one of Velvet Velour's dancers.

Jeanette eyed the girl in front of her hungrily as she moved with the slow music. She was good-looking but Jeanette didn't really pay attention to her face. Her body shape was very feminine, she had a slim waist and curvy hips and big breasts (silicone, and lots of it but who cares about minor details like these?).

For now, simply watching would suffice but Jeanette knew she wanted more. The night was young, after all and Jeanette wasn't picky when it came to sex. Male, female – it didn't matter to her. Bodies are bodies, people are people. The gender wasn't important as long as the beast got its fix.

Carnal desire. It burned hotly in her veins. Tonight, Jeanette was the seducer and the girl in front of her was her prey. Tonight, Jeanette would make her submit to her, make her succumb to her wishes, make this nameless dancer her personal slave. It's her true nature. Luring victims in and then snapping shut just like a Venus flytrap. Jeanette actually enjoyed the little role play, liked to be dominant.

The Vesuvius was a very stylish and expensive strip club. Currently, Jeanette was seated in one of the booths, leaned back against the crimson cushions of the sofa that was placed there. She set the empty glass aside, beckoning the dancer to come closer to her. With an elegant sway of her hips, she sat down into Jeanette's lap, straddling her.

Jeanette let her fingers run over the exposed skin of the girl in front of her, starting by cupping her cheek, down to her throat, over her collarbones down to her cleavage. The dancer wore a set of lingerie that consisted of a black and baby pink lace bra and panties.

Jeanette twirled the ends of the small bow that was placed between her breasts around her finger, hearing her giggle silently as the bow ends tickled her skin. Jeanette's hands trailed lower to her stomach, feeling the supple skin there.

_Ah, warmth. We've been dead for too long._

The dancer flinched a little when Jeanette traced her sides. "Baby, why are you so cold?", she asked with a sharp intake of breath, making Jeanette snigger quietly.

"Warm me up, honey", Jeanette said innocently even though her lips had curled into a wicked smile.

The dancer had caught the hint and leaned down, smoothing her lips against Jeanette's.

_We've been dead for _way_ too long. _

Such a nice feeling – the body of someone else pressed close to you, absorbing someone else's body heat.

The dancer's hands tangled into Jeanette's hair and she pressed the girl closer to her in response. She could taste the artificial cherry aroma of the dancer's lip gloss along with her natural, slightly sweet taste, felt every of her small breaths on her face, memorized the sensation of those full lips on her own. Their tongues rubbed against each other, slowly, sensually.

_Doesn't it feel like a sin to you?_

Not that discussion again. Why now, of all times? And she just started to enjoy herself!

Why should passion and sex be sins? Living meant reproducing and reproducing involved – _oh_.

_And now you get it._

Was it because Jeanette was with a woman?

_It's because we're a vampire and she's a human. We don't breed this way. We actually don't breed at all._

Because we're all cursed and doomed, blah blah blah. Jeanette told the voices to shut up, giving them the mental finger, enjoying the deep kisses she was sharing with the nameless dancer.

_Ivory Princess, you think of yourself as immaculate. You are not a child anymore, yet you act like one. You are not innocent anymore, yet you want to be._

Jeanette froze. The girl in her lap stared at her.

"What is it, baby?", she asked with a grin. "Want to take this further? If you have the cash, we can go to one of the private rooms." She wriggled her brows and Jeanette frowned.

"I have to go."

The grin vanished from the dancer's face. "You're kidding, right?" Suddenly, she sounded pissed.

Jeanette pushed her out of her lap, leaving the Vesuvius without another word.

Innocence. Who needs that shit anyway? Jeanette had other things to worry about.

_Getting laid is number one on your priority list, just as always, you whore._

Therese. She always had to ruin everything with her morals, her twisted view of purity.

_Put on your scanty outfits, Jeanette. Apply some more make-up. You live for moments like these, right? You enjoy being undressed by the eyes of strangers you just met. You enjoy to flaunt our body. You are so arrogant that it makes me sick._

"Look who's talking", Jeanette said nonchalantly, "I am arrogant, huh? Says the greedy bitch that can't keep her fingers to herself, clawing onto possessions like a madman."

Jeanette took a cab back home. Just as always, the night had passed in a blur. She hadn't even realized how much time she had actually spent in the strip club. Still, it was about 4 AM – there were still a lot of people in the club but Jeanette was in a bad mood thanks to Therese, not really interested in picking up someone for a little action.

"Are you satisfied now?", Jeanette asked as soon as the door of the small apartment had slammed shut behind her. She was stripping herself, pulling off the beautiful velvet dress.

"I am", came the answer from her other self, "You're slacking off, dear sister."

"Shut up."

"I'm stronger than you."

"You're not."

"_I_ am our true face."

"Really? I am the face of our desire. I am everything you ever wanted to be. How does it feel, Therese?"

"Don't give me that. I am –"

"YOU ARE ME! DON'T YOU GET IT? I AM YOU AND I WON'T GO AWAY!"

They broke down, grabbing the edge of the fancy heart-shaped bed that stood in the room. Therese knew Jeanette was right – she couldn't delete her existence.

Jeanette grabbed the necklace of the small locket the duckling had brought yesterday.

"You wanted this so badly and he refused to give it to me", she whispered. "Look how fucked-up we are."

They couldn't continue like this. One of them had to go.

"What are you doing?", Therese asked when Jeanette slipped into her usual outfit, hiding the locket in her bra.

"Going for a walk", Jeanette said innocently. Of course, Therese already knew what she was up to.

"You can't throw it away."

"Watch me." Jeanette grinned when she felt Therese panic. "Would it really matter if I threw it away? You already dispelled the Ocean House." Her smirk got even wider. "You greedy whore. You just want the jewelry for yourself, this has nothing to do with politics."

Therese growled loudly. Jeanette always knew. "Someday, I will kill you."

"Of course you will." Jeanette shut the door behind her, making her way downstairs and onto the street, going into the direction of the Santa Monica Pier. "But until you do, I'll still have my fun." She started climbing up the stairs to the pier, making her way to the railing.

"Fun?", Therese huffed with a disapproving glare, "So this is what you call fun? Destroying my –"

"Your _what_ exactly?", Jeanette intervened, "It's not your amulet. Why are you so attached to it, hmm?"

The pendant dangled from its chain, Jeanette only needed to open her palm and would be washed away by the ocean. The twins fought for power, both of them determined to win.

"You created me to take the things your personality couldn't handle, Therese", Jeanette said silently, staring into the distance. "I am this way because you forced me to be this way. That's why you're the dark one. You're the one pulling the strings but I had enough of you forcing me down."

"And what about you?", Therese asked, "You're always working against me, no matter what I do. We could get along but you always refuse. You don't want us to get along, you're happy with the way things are, you're happy with acting like a child."

The pendant fell down, landing in the ocean with a smack. The twins stared at the spot where it sank to the ground, washed away by the waves.

"This was the final straw, Therese", Jeanette whispered, biting her lip when she realized she had started to cry.

"So be it", Therese spat venomously, "You won't survive your next slip-up, Jeanette."

They left the beach and Therese collapsed onto her bed once she was in her haven, crying herself to sleep until the sun rose.

Vanity – the mother of all sins. The fountain of all the things that made existence miserable.


End file.
